


In an Officers' Mess

by Jenny_Islander



Series: Written in the Sounds of Silence [1]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 21:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19185838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Islander/pseuds/Jenny_Islander
Summary: About a year after the death of the Emperor, and a few months after he was invited to defect, Firmus Piett has a revelation.





	In an Officers' Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Words in the Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7173134) by [Fialleril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fialleril/pseuds/Fialleril). 



> I'm going to repeat this at the beginning of each fic until I get the series thingie to work for me. Is it a bug? Am I skipping or repeating a step? Further bulletins as events warrant.
> 
> This fic draws heavily on the Tatooine headcanons of the fantastic Fialleril, as illustrated in their Double Agent Vader series here at AO3 (not linking because when I put in the HTML it cuts off my text) and also at their Tumblr blog (ditto). You should read both, or you'll be very lost. Whatever I write may be jossed by them at any time.
> 
> I also pick and choose interesting bits from Star Wars Legends. Just bits.

It had, Firmus Piett decided dispassionately, been an absolute pit of an afternoon.

His ass was still partly numb from hours in a chair that had passed its replacement date. His shoulders were tight from the effort of suppressing his reactions to a couple of long-serving Rebel brasshats who'd spun out the damn briefing tag-teaming him with increasingly thinly veiled insults. And to top it off, he was fairly certain that he was coming down with a cold. Nothing in the officers' mess smelled right.

His stomach rumbled. _Home One_ was a day out from an agrarian planet, so there was some kind of fresh vegetable and meat soup steaming in a big kettle behind the service counter. He might not be able to taste it, but it should do him good. He accepted a bowl and a hunk of something gray and dry that was probably technically bread, and looked around for General Skywalker. His mind still stumbled a bit at the thought that his usual mealtime spot was next to Darth Vader, but he was too tired to think about it much.

Vad--Skywalker nodded to him and then did a doubletake himself. "You look terrible."

Firmus shrugged. "It's been...quite a day." He concentrated on dipping his bread into his soup a bite's worth at a time. The purr of Skywalker's portable oxygen concentrator was oddly soothing. Skywalker spoke quietly into his comm, some language Firmus didn't recognize, and turned back to his own meal.

A few minutes later, Skywalker's personal medical droid glided into the mess, most of its arms tucked neatly away, one dangling a thermal bottle. "Here you are," it (she! he reminded himself, and wasn't that surreal?) chirped, setting the bottle down at his elbow. "Hope you feel better."

He blinked. "Thanks." The little droid strobed her lights cheerfully at him and hummed out.

He unscrewed the cap. A delicious spicy smell drifted upward. He sipped tentatively, then again with appreciation. The drink seemed to flow gently clear to his toes and fingertips, soothing, clearing, putting color and flavor back into the world.

Where had he tasted this before?

The memory leaped into focus. One terrible night, after a promotion that felt like a horrible joke, when he could not sleep, and a thermal bottle had been waiting in his new quarters to keep him company...

Vad-- _Skywalker_ glanced at him with a twinkle in his eye.

He slammed the bottle down. "Holy kriffin' shavit!"


End file.
